


to the hearts we've made come alive

by roboticake



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Bloodletting, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Lisa is alive, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: Lisa Tepes is never arrested for witchcraft, and thus, the demon invasion never happens.Instead, there is something leaving a trail of dead, exsanguinated bodies in Lupu.Vampires are a safe bet, Trevor thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking with my best friend about the stories I could write if Lisa Tepes never died/the demon army never came. This is one of the numerous result.  
> Enjoy !

While Trevor Belmont does take some pride in his name, he doesn’t wish to advertise it in every little village he passes by; mostly because the common folk tend to hate the Belmonts, despite their outstanding skills in vampire hunting.

Anything outstanding is branded as black magic, these past few years, and Trevor’s family has been, according to rumors, soulless demons or cold-blooded killers. The hunter doesn’t really know from where these rumors come, but they are gruesome enough to make people wary and scared.

Trevor munches a slice of stale bread with distaste, his chestnut, shoulder-length hair disheveled as ever and the glint of his blue eyes dulled by cheap ale. They are still alert enough to dart from the door of the tavern to the window, though, surveying the exits.

In front of him, his drinking companion, a traveling merchant, sniffs. Trevor swears something falls from his nose and drops into his soup, and shudders.

“That lady...” he begins, trying to hide his disgust, “you said she’s dead?”

The merchant nods vigorously, closing his eyes to stress his point.

“Yes, poor Ana is dead! Someone bled her out like cattle and left her by the woods, still wearing her night gown. But if you want my opinion,” he says, and Trevor refrains himself from muttering ‘ _I don’t_ ’, “It’s not someone but something. I’m pretty sure that’s some bloody feral bear. You see, they’re everywhere and they...”

Trevor doesn’t care, after that. Bears definitely don’t bleed out their victims. They are more into mauling, and maybe throwing their victims around, and if that lady Ana was still recognizable and fully clothed when they found her, it’s _definitely_ not a bear.

“Where did that Ana live?” Trevor asks. “I’ll pay my respects, and, uh, maybe see what I can do.”

He’ll maybe investigate around if her village is in his way, but the prospect of dealing with villagers doesn’t please him in the slightest. Trevor will probably have to lie again, and while it comes naturally to him, he quite dislikes it.

“Lupu,” the merchant says, sniffing again. “I always go there twice a month. Nice village, good business. And pretty ladies, too; too bad they’re dying.”

Now, _that’s_ interesting.

“Only ladies are dying, then,” Trevor mumbles. “That’s strange enough. Is lady Ana the first one?”

The merchant waves his hand dismissively.

“No, no. I reckon she’s the fourth one in a month. Always a lady, and always bled out. Bloody feral bears...”

He continues to mutter other things under his breath, that Trevor ignores. Lupu isn’t too far from where he is, near Aiud. He should take a look there, as the descriptions of the merchant point at a vampire den, but the mere idea of having to investigate supernatural events with common folks sounds terrible. He should maybe ride away, directly to Targoviste, but...

_Damn it._

“Thank you, friend,” Trevor says, dropping two coins on the table, enough to cover both the merchant’s and his own ale.

The merchant greedily takes the coins and nods, with his irritating eyes shut again. Trevor forces himself to smile before he steps out of the inn, thinking of the merchant’s soup and making a disgusted face.

Spring in Wallachia is usually mild, but the nights are cold enough for Trevor to regret his beloved fur-trimmed coat. He wrinkles his nose, wonders if he should nap first, between the grown roots and under the shade of the oak he spotted earlier. It would be comfy enough, and at least free. He doesn’t have the coin to pay for a room just for a mere hour.

Trevor grunts when he notices two men standing behind him.

“What do you want?” he mutters. The men have small knives, eyes staring at his coin pouch, and a sadistic grin. Trevor knows he asked a stupid question and sighs.

He should have drank a lot more, he thinks, before he lunges and punches one of the men in his teeth. Trevor feels the first thief bites the inside of his own cheek under the blow before he falls, and there is a satisfying throb on the knuckles of his right hand when he aims at the second man, ducking in time to only hear the swish of a blade over his head.

“Hope you didn’t cut my hair,” Trevor says, and the scoundrel, after a look at his almost unconscious partner, thrusts angrily his knife toward him again.

Trevor jumps back and unwinds the whip he has on his side. He doesn’t usually use it for small, petty fights like this one, but he just wants to take a nap and these two bandits are ruining his plans.

“Listen, you really don’t want to know what I can do with that,” he warns. The last standing man scrunches up his nose, but makes no surrendering moves.

Well, at least he isn’t mocking his whip like so many men and women before. Kudos to him for his tolerance in front of unusual weapons. Trevor is almost tempted to be nice to him, but then, he can feel that the hair on the top of his head is definitely shorter and no one should touch _his_ hair.

A flick of his wrist, and Trevor is forcing the man closer with his whip, closer enough for his face to meet, at full force, his fist. The time, the nose breaks, and the thief plops down, cupping with both hands his face, wailing. Trevor raises an eyebrow, and kicks his face, with enough force to render him unconscious without leaving any lasting consequences on his body.

Trevor stares at the unconscious bodies for a while, then shrugs. He picks up the thieves’ coins, stuffs them in his pouch. He ignores the soft yet accusative neigh of his horse as they leave.

 

\- - -

  
Trevor arrives at Lupu a day and a half later, at night; famished, exhausted, and irritatingly _sober_. He reins his horse to the closest and probably only tavern of the village, and finds himself stepping into a noisy crowd of men.

They are all talking and laughing as they gulp down their tankard of ale. Trevor frowns. For such a small village, the tavern is overly crowded, and he even has to push some drunk patrons to find his way to the counter.

The waitress looks at him with impassive brown eyes. They rest a little too long on Trevor’s hair and _shit_ , he curses, passing a self-conscious hand over the top of his head. The two bandits after his coins, yesterday, probably made a mess with their knives.

“What d’you want,” the waitress finally asks. “Ale? If you want bread, we’re out of it.”

“Just ale,” Trevor replies, then adds, lowering his voice, “and information.”

The waitress slides an overflowing tankard towards Trevor and crosses her arms. She looks intrigued enough by Trevor’s request, and narrows her eyes when she visibly notices the short sword securely tucked by his side. Trevor makes sure she sees the Belmont crest under his coat so she doesn’t take him for a bandit, and clears his throat.

She sighs in defeat, and throws a glare at a drunken patron before she speaks. “Guess it’s about the poor girls. What d’you want to know?”

Trevor is quite surprised to see the waitress not expecting any compensation for the clues she might give him, except for his order of ale, and she shrugs, as if she read his mind.

“Well, next time, it can be me, and like Hell I want to be bled out and left to die somewhere in the woods,” the young woman says, then shows the crowd around them with a wave of her hand. “Unlike like these nosy sods and lazy guards, you look capable enough. So. What d’you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell me,” Trevor mutters. “If the victims were acting strangely before they died, or if you have a possible culprit in mind.”

“Well, I didn’t know half of ‘em. That Ana and Lucia -the latest and second victims- were rich ladies, after all, so they don’t come ‘round here. But Vera and Monica -first and third victims-, no. Nothing strange.”

Trevor hums. “Are they all from here or...?”

“Not all of ‘em. Monica came here with her husband two years ago. Happy marriage, not very strange. Lucia just arrived from Sibiu when she got killed. You see, her father has a pretty nice house here; a big mansion. She wanted to live in there. Poor man is probably blaming himself for letting her go.”

“I... see,” Trevor breathes. The information, so far, isn’t very interesting. The victims don’t seem to have any connection between them, except for being a woman, living in Lupu and being bled to death. He purses his lips, then asks, “Anything strange about their deaths?”

The waitress’ eyes light up and she leans closer to Trevor.

“You think it’s some monster, don’t you? I knew it,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Well the poor women, they are always bled to death, dried up like a slice of goat meat, but they don’t have any bruises on them. They’re all nice and pretty, still wearing their night gown or something.”

“They don’t have... any marks, then,” Trevor repeats, frowning, while he thinks it’s definitely _not_ bears.

The absence of any wound would normally rule out vampires, but then... What kind of creature would do that, except for them? Did they find a way to consume their prey without leaving any signs behind? He grits his teeth. Vampires are already a pain to deal with. If they begin to adapt...

“Y’know what,” the waitress says after handing out a round of ale to another obviously too drunk patron, “I think that’s the Tepes son. He’s _weird_. Everybody thinks that, but since his mother’s the only doctor here, no one wants to say it out loud.”

Trevor sips his cheap ale, and thinks for a moment. If both the waitress and himself are right, it would mean the Tepes son is a vampire, and that his mother would probably be one too.

“What can you tell me, about him, and his mother?” Trevor asks, and the waitress beams, quite satisfied to have her suspicions taken into account.

“Oh, his mother is a sweetheart. Works from dawn till dusk to help people. Helped me a lot when I was sick, even if I didn’t have the coin to pay her. But her son? He is... He’s only out during the night, and doesn’t talk a lot. He never did anything bad, or mean, but there’s something strange in him.”

She shrugs, then adds, “Sometimes I believe he’s not Lisa’s son. She wouldn’t have such a strange brat. But she loves him dearly.”

 _Lisa_ , Trevor notes the name in his mind. _Lisa Tepes_. If she works as hard as the waitress said, she can’t be a vampire. She would die, burned to death under the sun.

He needs to dig around, find some records; hopefully without having to dive into the church’s archives. God, he really, _really_ , hates churches. But thinking about that...

“Is Lisa Tepes married?” Trevor wonders aloud. The waitress smiles.

“Yes she is! But we don’t see her husband often. Last time was a month or two ago,” she mutters, scratching her chin. “She says he travels a lot. She is quite worried about him.”

“I see. Well, thank you for your time...”

The young woman chuckles.

“Olga,” she says. “The name’s Olga.”

 

\- - -

  
There is a new victim in the morning. Trevor is the one to find her by the woods. Her body is pale, the blood obviously drained out, and as Olga said, the hunter doesn’t find a single wound on her body. There are old scars on her calloused fingers and her hands, but nothing recent enough to appear suspicious. He frowns, crouches down to examine her more closely without touching her.

What Trevor thought to be a simple vampire problem just turned into something more complex, and he has to admit he is intrigued. His work as a hunter is quite repetitive, and for once, there is something else, something interesting, something new.

Five victims in a month, now, Trevor muses. The culprit maybe knows that no one has any idea of what’s happening; letting them feel powerful and in control. If Trevor doesn’t work quickly, there would more even more victims. _Shit_. He hates working under pressure.

Trevor pushes himself up with a groan, covers any traces he might leave around the body. He doesn’t alert a guard and instead walks back to the village, trying to think of a plan, of something to do. He doesn’t have any clue except for the suspicions of a waitress, and better start here than nowhere.

Trevor sighs. He gulps the last drops of water of his gourd, and makes his way Lisa Tepes’ house.

It is quite easy to find, which isn’t really surprising. Trevor just has to ask for a doctor, citing a fever and some stomachache, and everyone is quick to give him directions, fearing for their own health.

And soon he is standing in front of the Tepes family house. Trevor notices the wooden fence with a raised eyebrow, and a small, tidy garden that someone, the hunter guesses Lisa, takes particularly care of. He stares at the roses, and feels at little bit sick in his stomach.

The house is by no means as impressive as the Belmont family estate, but there is still a resemblance; and the memories are here. Memories of burning wood, so vivid that Trevor can almost feel the smoke clog the back of his nose. He clears his throat. It's suddenly difficult to breathe and to see, dark spots dot his sight, and Trevor wants to puke.

“Are you... sick?”

Trevor isn’t exactly sick, but he almost doesn’t hear the gentle, concerned voice in front of him with the roar of his heart in his ears. His hands are clammy when he grips the person’s robe, and he thinks he’s going to die, suffocated by smoke and burned in fire.

He feels someone lower him down on the wet grass, and Trevor doesn’t care much, because he breathes a little better when the person tells him to breathe in and out slowly, carefully, gently.

When the cloud of panic dissipates, Trevor blinks up to see a woman peering down at him curiously. She wears a soft red robe and her blonde, braided hair is flipped over her shoulder. Her eyes are worried as she tilts her head.

“Are you seeking medication?” she asks.

Trevor shakily pushes himself up. He knows he is pale, feels a pearl of sweat roll down his temple.

“Ah, no, I’m searching for doctor Lisa Tepes,” he replies, voice dry and rough. “I am... Trevor, uh. Trevor. I have a few questions.”

The blonde woman takes a couple of steps back, and suddenly seems more cautious. She glances at Trevor again, this time her eyes inquisitive and insistent. It’s almost a study, the hunter thinks, as he looks back with a raised eyebrow.

“I am Lisa Tepes,” she finally says, slowly.

And Lisa Tepes is no vampire. She is warm, stands under the sun, and carries her bag without the ease nor the strength of a creature of the night. Trevor purses his lips. If she is no vampire, maybe her son is. Maybe he was turned when he was younger, maybe she adopted him. They are so many possibilities. He needs to meet him.

“It’s about your son,” Trevor admits, gesturing at the house. “Is he here?”

Lisa freezes and yes; she is definitely suspicious now. Trevor acts like he doesn’t notice her sliding a hand in the puff of her sleeve to grab something, and continues, forcing a smile on his lips.

“I’d like to meet him,” Trevor says. He feels uneasy, but his heartbeat is calmer now.

“Not now,” Lisa replies curtly. “I am expected elsewhere and...”

“Where?” Trevor asks abruptly. “Where are you expected? Because I’ll find your son, even if you’re not here, and we’ll have a nice. Little. Chat.”

Trevor feels like shit. He hates to do that to such a gentle woman, yet quickly thinks otherwise when he notices the flash of a knife sliding out of her sleeve. _Ah_. Not as harmless as she seems, the good doctor Tepes.

The hunter takes a step back before the weapon can reach him, but Lisa is only grasping the handle, watching him move with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t even think of touching my family,” she seethes. “I saw the crest on your chest and your whip. I knew one of you would come one day, but we're not doing anything wrong. Leave.”

Trevor blinks. He almost wants to mock her, but the valiant efforts she puts into protecting her family is commendable.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” he decides to say. “I really don’t.”

“Good,” a deep, rough voice replies. “Because you would lose your fingers even before you lay a single one of them on her.”

Trevor throws a glance to his side, and huffs with contempt.

Who he assumes to be Lisa Tepes’ son is standing not so far from his mother, tall and menacing, his lean body covered by a long black coat; as if the gentle warmth of spring is still too cold for him. Both of his hands are casually resting on the handle of his sheathed sword, thin fingers drumming impatiently.

If the man; if he can be called a man, is as blonde as his mother and shares many of her sharp features; his eyes are unnaturally golden, and his skin too pale to have blood flowing underneath. All of these details confirm Trevor’s suspicions, and he can't repress the disgusted twitch of his lips.

“Adrian,” Lisa says sharply, worryingly, “please.”

“I will not harm him,” said Adrian assures, then turns his full attention on Trevor. “But I will if he doesn’t leave us.”

Trevor stands his ground and sniffs disdainfully. “If I leave you’ll find another girl to bleed out like cattle and that’s not going to sit well with me.”

Adrian visibly grits his teeth, and Lisa is putting herself between Trevor and her son. She doesn’t look panicked, but there is a fear in her eyes, the fear to lose everything important to her. It’s awfully familiar and Trevor has to look away.

“My son, he is not responsible of this,” Lisa says. “He doesn’t need to...”

She chokes on her words, unable to imagine her son killing, which is... Quite a normal thing to do, Trevor thinks. Parents always want to think their children are perfect and good, aren’t they? He purses his lips. He doesn’t want to shatter her innocent beliefs, but does she realize...?

“I don’t want to break it out to you but,” Trevor finally says, shrugging, “you do know vampires need blood to survive, don’t you?”

“She does know, _hunter_ ,” Adrian huffs. “She is trying to tell you she provides for me.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow, and takes a long look at Lisa. Her cheeks are rosy with anger and anticipation, and she seems well. Maybe a little _too_ well for someone regularly providing for a vampire. He rolls his eyes. When are people going to stop to take him for some idiot?

Lisa seems to know what Trevor is thinking, and quickly raises her hand in surrender. The knife she brandished earlier is now thrown on the grass, and she quickly kicks it away, into the bushes of roses closest to Trevor.

“I am a doctor,” she says. Her voice quivers a little. “I am using the blood from the patients I treat with bloodletting. I... Please. Please let me show you how it works. My son never harmed anyone. I never harmed anyone.”

Trevor takes a deep breath. Destroying a family over circumstantial evidences and misplaced pride hits too close to home, and he doesn’t want to feel like his own tormentor. He doesn’t want to be the one burning the house; the one accusing blindly; the one condemning without proof.

When Trevor takes his decision, he can hear his forbears curse him.

“Fine. Show me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lisa doesn’t utter a word when Trevor asks to carry her knife on himself and demands her son to drop his weapon; the two conditions for him to listen to their explanation. Despite Adrian’s obvious distaste, she agrees with a weary nod, while the vampire concedes with a final, icy glare.

He drops his sheathed sword and his belt onto the grass with a wrinkled nose, looking almost petulant, under Trevor’s pointed stare. Vampires are fast, unpredictable. If Adrian does want to fight -something quite possible, judging by the tension in the air- with or without his weapon, Trevor must to be prepared. The brute force of a vampire, as well as their unnatural speed, can not be underestimated.

But Trevor has fought enough, both men and creatures, to know fairness and honor is too overrated if one wants to survive. And so, he takes the easiest option to ensure his safety: after a lazy twirl of his knife in his hand, he points the sharp edge against Lisa’s back, his eyes trained on Adrian in a silent dare, while his unoccupied hand grasps both of her wrists. She gasps in surprise, but otherwise stays wordless.

Adrian doesn’t share her calmness. He immediately hisses in pure rage, fangs visible and menacing, while the gold of his eyes seek to burn Trevor’s. He makes a small movement towards his mother, long claws wanting to scratch and find blood, and Trevor presses the blade a bit harder. He knows it wouldn’t hurt: Lisa’s dress is too large for her, and the rich fabric thick enough to nor tear. The threat still seems enough for Adrian to step down, though, the only vestige of his rage in a disgusted uptick of his upper lip.

“She is innocent,” Adrian grits, voice quivering with concealed fury. “She is human.”

Trevor shrugs, not proud of his actions but remaining undeterred. He doesn’t try to repress the contempt in his words. “Then you better behave, hm?”

“You-”

“Enough, I do not have all day,” Lisa says, loud and sudden. For someone taken hostage, she seems quite composed, Trevor remarks. She adds, voice gentler, “Adrian, dear... Listen to him. He will leave us once I prove we are not the ones bleeding out these poor girls. Let me do this.”

Adrian hums in acknowledgment, his shoulders a tense line, and reluctantly walks to the door, unlocking it. He doesn’t do anything, then; only stands still, arms crossed. He looks expectantly at Trevor, waiting for him and his mother to enter. Trevor scoffs.

“I’m not letting you behind my back.”

“And I do not need to hide to kill you,” Adrian replies with a roll of his eyes. He steps into his house nonetheless.

“Try it, I’ll make a pendant off your teeth,” Trevor fires back, gently nudging Lisa forward.

She does move, but steps on his foot before that. Trevor winces. Despite the thick leather of his boots, Lisa short heels stab his toe with too much force to be accidental. The hunter purses his lips in a poor attempt to keep his agony silent.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Lisa says.

She doesn’t sound sorry at all.

If anything, she looks _smug_.

“It’s fine,” Trevor mumbles, voice a little strangled as he follows Lisa. “I’m fine.”

Surprise hits Trevor as soon as he steps into the house. While impressive in its size, the interiors of the Tepes estate are in a lesser condition than he expected to find it.

It smells of mold and some corners are sheltering spiders; cobwebs stuck between rich oak furniture and walls. The manor’s beams creak when Trevor kicks the door shut behind him, and he wrinkles his nose when a cloud a dust makes its way to his face. The estate is not abandoned, not really, but obviously unkempt.

Adrian doesn’t seem to mind. Leaning against the nearest wall, his eyes are too busy throwing daggers to show any embarrassment, but Lisa winces.

“I am sorry for the mess,” she mutters, glancing around as if she is discovering the place “With all these sick people, I do not have time to clean. Adrian isn’t home, too, usually, since he helps me.”

She suddenly turns back, her stomach now pressing against the blade of her own knife, still in Trevor’s hands. Adrian immediately pushes himself up in alert.

“Mother-” he begins, genuinely worried, only to be cut short by Lisa.

“Adrian, be a dear and bring our guest a cup of water,” she says. When her son doesn’t budge, she narrows her eyes at him. “Please.”

“You know I won’t drink it,” Trevor sniffs, watching Adrian’s back as he hesitantly retreats in the kitchen.

Ha. Such a mother’s boy.

“I know, I asked water for a reason. I won't waste good wine,” Lisa replies, arms crossed as she rolls her eyes. It’s strange how her expression almost matches perfectly her son’s. “I just thought you would prefer to talk to a defenseless woman instead of her vampire son. May I sit?”

“I... really don’t think you’re defenseless,” Trevor says. “And do whatever you want, as long as I keep the knife.”

Lisa shrugs as she plops down on an armchair, sighing wearily. She doesn’t spare a glance at the knife now pointing at her face, but instead at the enormous clock propped against the wall, frowning. Trevor stares at it too, a bit curious.

“Ah, yes, they aren’t common,” Lisa comments. “But you must have seen them in churches?”

Trevor grunts noncommittedly, but doesn’t reply. He hasn’t stepped into a church for years. He isn’t fond those so-called houses of God, dislikes the priests with passion; and would gladly discuss of anything but his lack of faith. He clears his throat.

“Why do you think I would believe any of your words?” Trevor asks, steering the conversation away.

Lisa blinks at him, then replies, disbelieving, “Why wouldn’t you? We have sound arguments. We want to live peacefully, and I can provide the blood we need without harming anyone, without arousing any suspicion. We’ve been doing this for years. Why would we suddenly endanger ourselves?”

It does make sense, Trevor thinks, eyes cast down. Besides, he isn’t even sure if the culprit of all these deaths is truly a vampire -they are usually so messy when they feed, leaving gaping wounds on necks or thighs. Lips pursed, he glances at Lisa.

“You say you feed him, but I don’t see any cuts on you.”

Lisa freezes.

“I...” she begins, then slowly stands up and rounds her chair.

Trevor makes a movement to follow her, suspicious, but she in soon back, carrying a wooden box. She opens it with care, showing a myriad of needles. One, particularly long, is stuck to a tube a hollow glass. Trevor squints, his eyebrows knit into a frown. What kind of tools are these?

“It is a syringe,” Lisa explains, seeing his confusion. “Can I... Can I show you, maybe? On myself, of course.”

Trevor is nods warily. As a warning, he keeps his knife raised high enough to strike her. Lisa smiles wryly, and carefully rolls her sleeves up. She deftly ties a strap of leather around her upper left arm, then takes a piece of cloth from the box and dabs the skin of the crook of her elbow.

It smells like alcohol, but it’s too strong and too overwhelming to be it. It’s irritating too, enough to make the back of Trevor’s nose a little sore. He almost sneezes; almost. He refrains himself quickly when surprise overtaking him: Lisa, with clinical precision, is pressing the needle into her skin.

It’s _terrifying_.

Lisa, seeing Trevor’s shock, chuckles. She carefully yet quickly pulls out a small jar out of the box, putting it right under the tube of hollow glass. The hunter raises an eyebrow as he notices some sort of sturdy cork at the end of it.

When it’s taken off, blood flows out, runs down the sides of the tube, and drips down into the jar. Trevor knows the liquid should pass through the needle, and it’s quite a fascinating process, but the mere idea of having a so small item able to draw so much blood makes him almost _screech_.

“W-What...” Trevor stammers, unsure of what he is witnessing.

“Mother,” comes Adrian’s voice, sudden and concerned.

Trevor jumps. The vampire is standing straight, still tense and cautious, and his eyes are cast down, worried. In a hand, a glass of water shakes. “You should not have.”

“He wanted proof that I fed you, that you’re not hurting anyone,” Lisa says. Despite the situation, her voice is serene, and Trevor wonders if it hurts.

Lisa carefully plucks off the needle of her arm and presses another strong smelling piece of cloth on her skin. The jar of blood sits on the arm of her armchair. “You can have it, son. And before you ask -yes, I am sure.”

Adrian blinks, genuine surprise taking over his face. He gingerly steps towards the jar and picks it up.

“You should not have,” he repeats, even though he presses the rim of the jar against his lips. He narrows his golden eyes at Trevor, then tilts the small recipient up.

“Don’t worry, Adrian,” Lisa says, unperturbed. “I’ll rest later.”

Lisa seems is a little weaker, and she does look paler; the red of her cheeks gone. Yet, her smile is true and full of warmth. Trevor looks away. He feels like he is intruding, or at least more than he actually is. Adrian and Lisa are, despite the son being a vampire, unguarded around each other. Their concern, their love; they are genuine and _too much_.

It makes Trevor uncomfortable. He has never seen a vampire like that -feeling, caring, loving; displaying raw emotions with such ease. It sets his teeth on edge. It’s so wrong.

“You know it doesn’t help your case,” Trevor rasps after a while. Adrian has finished the jar of blood and is now standing behind her mother. “It actually makes it worse.”

Lisa tilts her head, confused. Trevor clears his throat.

“The dead girls, they don’t have any noticeable wounds,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “And just right here I’m looking at what is the perfect weapon.”

Adrian steps immediately forward, ready to shield his mother, despite her being still in the vicinity of Trevor’s reach. The hunter has almost forgotten the knife in his hands.

“I saw how you reacted, when you saw it,” the vampire says, vaguely gesturing at the box. “What do you think a normal person would do, if they see that device, when you, a hunter, almost belched like a too drunk peasant? They would flee; they would fight. There would be scratches and resistance.”  
  
Adrian’s lips are a thin, severe line.

“Tell me, hunter, did you even take a close look at the body of a victim? Or did you immediately run to us, ready to blame us with unfounded accusations?” he continues, his voice dropping lower, turning into a threat. “And now, are you going to leave us, or are you going to kill us?”

Trevor remains silent, unable to deny his motives. He did want to put the blame on Adrian; half-hoped to solve the problem quickly and move on. Now... Now, he couldn’t, wouldn’t. He isn’t sentimental enough to trust a vampire, but Lisa genuinely cares for Adrian, and Trevor doesn’t wish to snatch away her only son.

Something sings dully outside, like the elongated ring of a bell. It grows closer; and a split second later a familiar sword shatters the nearest window and finds its way into Adrian’s hand. Trevor blinks. Lisa looks more concerned by the broken window than the blade that passed straight in front of her, but she still takes a few cautious steps back, out of Trevor’s reach.

“That’s cheating,” Trevor says, still blinking is disbelief. Despite his surprise, his knife is already raised, and his free hand hovers over the handle of his whip. Reflexes don’t seem to die that easily.

“Your silence is telling, hunter, and I have abandoned the idea of fairness when you took my mother hostage,” Adrian scoffs. “I can not trust you. If you leave, nothing tells me that you will not come back with other hunters. ”

“I work best alone,” Trevor grunts in response. “And I really, _really_ , don’t want to meet other hunters either.”

“That’s it. Stop it, both of you,” Lisa interrupts. She has rounded the armchairs and is now standing behind her son, both hands anchored to her hips.

When Trevor and Adrian don’t move an inch, air heavy and tension ready to snap, she sighs and approaches the hunter again. Her hands are high in surrender, and Adrian, noticing that, is immediately trying to pull the back of her robe in a attempt to stop her.

She does stop, but only when she is standing between Trevor and her son.

“Hunter...” she begins, softly, before she clears her throat and corrects herself. “ _Trevor_. I know no words from my son’s mouth or mine will fully convince you of our innocence. You need evidences, and I understand that. I will help you gather them. I will accompany you, if you allow me to. As a doctor, I can request a reexamination of the corpses. The people of Lupu trust me, the mayor, too. They won’t say no.”

The idea is quite tempting. Trevor wouldn’t have to sneak into crypts and steal in the mayor’s house, and the presence of Lisa would be reassuring during interrogations. He hums, considering her proposal, when Adrian just hisses.

“I am not leaving you with a man like him, mother,” he protests.

Lisa turns her attention to her son.

“Are you going with him, then? You are as capable as me,” she says, quirking up an eyebrow. She gently prods the top of Adrian’s nose with a finger. “And your sense of smell is better than mine too.”

Adrian is mortified by his mother’s fond gesture, and Trevor snorts.

Until Lisa’s words hit him.

“ _What_?”

  
\- - -

  
Of course, because he is too much of a mother’s boy to decline, Adrian accepts to accompany Trevor in his quest. His features are just plainly murderous, though, and the only moment when the hunter doesn’t have to see them is when Adrian is striding ahead, impatient to get the investigation over with.

“Where did you find the body?” the vampire asks curtly after a while, stopping a second to glance at Trevor. His hand is still uncomfortably close to the hilt of his sword.

Trevor shrugs, eyes on the weapon, and gestures towards the edge of the forest, not so far from where they stand.

“She was around there,” Trevor says. “Or further. I’m not sure.”

He wonders if the body has been noticed by now. He wasn’t gone for long to the Tepes’ estate, but Lupu is a small village. All of its inhabitant have heard of the murders, and fear would make anyone suspicious at the disappearance of a girl, especially in the middle of the night.

The vampire scrunches up his nose and goes ahead again, his blonde hair dancing in the morning breeze. It isn’t cold anymore, though, not enough to wear a long coat; yet Adrian has insisted to bring his. Black and gray and too fancy for their task, Trevor doesn’t wonder why Olga found Adrian weird.

“How can you forget where a body is,” Adrian seethes. “Have you even considered to call the authorities?”

“Nope,” Trevor huffs. “I’m here to know what does that, take it down, move on; and I can’t really do shit if I’m accused of murder.”

“Of course, false accusation would bother you only if _you_ are the one concerned.”

More than murderous, Adrian now looks absolutely disgusted. He distances himself once more from Trevor, leaving the hunter with his thoughts.

It’s strange, really, to see how the vampire has picked up some human traits. His fingers drum on the hilt of his sword when he is impatient; he scratches the back of his neck when he doesn’t find anything in the forest; grimaces when he spots the decaying carcass of a deer.

“When have you been turned?” Trevor suddenly asks, more abruptly than he intended to. Despite his appearance -grayish skin and golden eyes, Adrian can easily be mistaken with a normal, if sick, man. It troubles the hunter more than he would admit.

Adrian halts and throws him a puzzled glance.

“I was born vampire,” he says.

For the umpteenth time since this morning, Trevor stutters “ _what_ ”. Adrian sniffs disdainfully, as if providing an explanation to a hunter would be pointless, but he finally changes his mind.

“My mother, as you have seen, is human. My father is a pure-blooded vampire,” Adrian deadpans. “Do I need to go further? Explain how procreation occurs?”

Trevor makes a disgusted face.

“Absolutely not from you,” he affirms, then asks, more quietly, “where is he, your father?”

“Are you suspecting him?” Adrian wonders. Before Trevor can properly offer an answer, though, he grits, voice sour, “Fear not, he is too busy discovering the marvels or the world to stay here.”

“How does he... survive?”

Adrian sighs. “He is not harming anyone either, if it is what you are wondering. He has of box of syringes too. He pays people, or takes the blood from the sick he treats -the ones who need blood-letting to relieve their ills.”

“I can’t believe a pure-blooded vampire isn’t just taking what he wants,” Trevor mumbles.

Adrian’s gaze soften a little, and his voice drops. It’s barely a whisper when he says, “he would, if not for my mother.”

Trevor doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t sure, even, of what he _should_ say. It is rare, but a vampire mating with a human isn’t unheard of. It is the first time, though, that Trevor hears about _love_. It’s too unsettling to consider it, so he doesn’t.

“So... you’re a damphir,” he comments instead.

Adrian nods noncommittedly. “If you wish to. I am not close to be human, that is for sure; but dhampires and vampires don’t have many differences. They sustain themselves with blood. How you decide to call them, then, has no importance.”

They stay silent after that. The animosity between Adrian and Trevor, if a little less noticeable, is still hanging in the air. It’s diluted enough to make their bickering cease for a while, until they find the body of the last victim.

Trevor was too much in a hurry, earlier, to properly study her; but here she is, still nameless, still bloodless, still propped against the bark of an old tree. She seems peaceful, even in her coarse sleeping attire, as if she just fell asleep there. Trevor sighs.

“Brought a friend,” he says to the body, throwing a thumb behind him to show Adrian, who just sighs exasperatedly. “It won’t be long.”

“Have you inspected her?” the vampire asks, ignoring Trevor’s conversation with the dead girl.

Trevor purses his lips. “As much as I could without having to touch her?”

Adrian hums in acknowledgment and crouches down; a rather inelegant posture for the vampire. He doesn’t seem to pick up anything abnormal on her, and leans closer to pull up her eyelids. The victim’s blue eyes are dulled and milky, but otherwise show no sign of an anomaly.

Trevor watches Adrian inspect her from head to toe, look under her finger and toenails. After a while, the vampire sighs in defeat, and opens the victims’ mouth with a slight grimace, that Trevor mirrors. It isn’t his first time, and he had seen much worse -rotten, bloated corpses that no one dared to approach; but it will never be something he will get used to see, or hear. Somehow, the strange cracks of the unused bones of the victim's jaw, the moist sound of her mouth pried open; they are worse than the sight of them.

Adrian pauses, impossibly still.

“I found something,” he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written Alucard/Adrian less guarded than he canonly is, because I am pretty sure Lisa's death plays a role in it. But since in this fic she doesn't die... /shrug


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides from crowd* i'm so sorry

Trevor doesn’t know what to expect when he hears Adrian say that he has found something. The vampire seems unsettled and stays eerily silent, shoulders tense and a hand itching to find the hilt of his sword. It’s weird enough, and Trevor’s guts twist in a way that’s wrong, _too_ wrong, and he knows there is danger somewhere hanging in the air, adding to the already heavy atmosphere.

“What is it,” Trevor asks, because he needs to know.

He needs to know what’s wrong and why Adrian is like this, and it doesn’t come much of a surprise when the vampire stops to draw a shaky breath, and says, “a puncture wound. Like the ones the syringes do.”

Adrian looks back at the hunter, and it’s not worry taking over his face. It’s fear that Trevor sees in his frown; not for himself but for his mother. Adrian, a son of the night, is afraid of the accusations, of the judgment, of a whole village burning his mother to ashes –that is, if Trevor doesn’t whip her head off her shoulders first.

“I swear if you ever think about it, I will end you _and_ this whole village, hunter,” Adrian threatens, standing up to fully face Trevor in a fluid motion.

There’s a flash of something truly, deeply vampiric in his face when he utters these words, and Trevor has the sudden urge to fight for his life; and yet, he doesn’t move. There’s heaviness hindering his moves, because he does want to believe Lisa and her soft words, and he might want to believe Adrian too.

But Adrian is terrifying, like that, fangs out and the steel of his sword glinting; any semblance of his human side disappearing, if only for the desperation that makes his hands shake and his breath short. Trevor’s fingers immediately snake around the handle of his whip. He understands the lack of humanity Olga speaks about, now, the chilling weirdness she can’t really place.

“You’re... Really not helping her,” Trevor mutters. “Or yourself.”

Adrian doesn’t seem to want to calm down and hisses instead. His claws are dangerously long, and Trevor’s eyes dart behind the creature’s silhouette, trying to find an escape road behind him, in trees and snow and forgotten hills, past the body of this still nameless girl. Returning to the village would be a disastrous decision –he is sure Adrian’s threat isn’t idle. Unlike Trevor, he puts intent behind each one of his words.

“I’m...” Trevor begins, forcing his hand away from his weapon, a gesture of peace he hopes Adrian notices,  “I’m ready to hear your mother out.”

He wants to add a witty “ _again_ ” but knows this is absolutely not the time to be smug. Anything seems enough to make Adrian snap, and it’s... Beautiful, in a tragic way, how a vampire can care so much, _too much_ , for a human, considering their fleeting lives.

Adrian is aware, to some extent, of his outburst. He does try to contain his fear and anger, now laced with a spark of hope at the chance for her mother to be proven innocent. He still seems cautious, and it’s nothing close to his former cold exasperation, but when he speaks, his voice is more controlled.

And it’s a start, Trevor thinks, trying to focus on the vampire instead of his body urging him to run.

“How can I trust you?” Adrian whispers.

Trevor bites his lower lip. Shrugs. He doesn’t even trust himself. Reflexes are hard to shake off.

“I swear I’ll do it,” he says. “If my word isn't enough, I can give you my whip, if you want.”

The second part is more of a jest than a real proposal –half-breed or not, the blessed leather of his weapon would burn Adrian’s skin all the same. He chuckles at his own joke, a weary sound in the air, only to look down in confusion when the creature stretches out his left hand. His golden, icy eyes are on the Belmont whip, and he stays impossibly still. Trevor frowns.

“You really don’t want that,” he mutters, even though he is carefully reaching to the latch on his side. “The hilt’s worse.”

Adrian huffs.

“I don’t care.”

And he truly doesn’t care, Trevor notices, as Adrian’s skin burns under the holy weapon, charring his palm in a sickening sizzling sound. The vampire audibly grits his teeth and is quick to march back to the Tepes estate. Quite often, he would turn back to check on Trevor, suspicious, too much in a hurry to care about the body they left in the woods.

Trevor can’t really fault him. Hunters have, after all, chased down his kin for centuries, both in Wallachia and the rest of Europe. Sometimes, they even went to extreme lengths to ensure their goals would be met –sacrifices are rare but not unheard of, especially those of innocents, and of course, rumors are always extrapolated into terrible, sinister stories. It’s not a surprise to meet people wary, if not scared, of hunters.

Trevor is glad to say that Belmonts, for all he knows, never willingly killed a human –God, his life is already shitty enough to have people run away from him. But he sometimes wonders, lost between two tankards of ale, how many died from his family’s meddling; a collateral damage its members never tried to contain. Trevor is sure he isn’t the only Belmont to have crushed and maimed and cut humans before; thugs and brigands after easy riches. There were never lethal injuries, of course, but this world is not kind to the injured and the sick.

Both Trevor and Adrian are halfway through the village when they hear an inhuman screech. Trevor, in high alert, immediately tugs his whip back from Adrian’s grasp, leaving a red brand in his hands. The vampire barely notices it –he is already running through the small roads to his estate, lips pursed, hair in the wind. Trevor swears, then follows the creature, wheezing behind him, trying to catch up.

His back hurts, his chest is uncomfortably tight, and he is irritatingly sober by the time they arrive. 

Lisa is safe, Trevor remarks, letting go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. She seems agitated, talks to Adrian with big gestures. Her braid of blonde hair is swinging messily on her shoulder.

“It’s from the graveyard,” Lisa screams. “And I’ll be going!”

Adrian has his arms crossed. Despite his height, despite his vampire traits, he winces in front of his mother. 

“You take care of the living, mother,” he says. His tone is sort of blasé as if they had this argument a thousand times. “This is not for you.”

Lisa opens her mouth, then closes it. Unable to deny her son’s words, she points a finger at Trevor, who tried very hard to hide in a bush until now. Trevor grimaces when Lisa strides over, Adrian behind her, sighing.

“You can’t let him go alone,” she grouses.

Is it his life now? Being forcefully pulled into a fight between a human mother and her vampire son? It’s so fucking surreal, Trevor thinks, at first, before he tells himself he is definitely too sober to deal with this situation.

Lisa looks desperately behind Trevor’s shoulder, seeking injured villagers, worried. There is no one. She tightly grips her son’s arm, and Trevor would have winced in sympathy if it wasn’t Adrian.

“I...” Trevor finally begins, unsure of what to do, only to be interrupted by a derisive snort.

“If Belmont comes, would you stay here?” Adrian asks after another sigh. “Please, mother.”

Lisa seems conflicted for a moment, then finally, she releases her son from her grasp. Trevor feels robbed of a decision, but since when does he even have a choice? His life is a succession of responsibilities thrust upon him, from the day he was old enough to wield a weapon to this day, teaming up with a creature of the night against his wishes.

A sane mind, a cautious mind, would say his attraction for ale and beer is more than a weary hunter’s indulgence –akin to his eyes searching for an escape road, his mind tries to find a way out.

From this world. From this life. From himself.

“Belmont,” Adrian says. “Let’s go.”

Trevor blinks, and for once, follows without a word.

 

\- - -

 

The graveyard is surprisingly far from the Tepes estate. When they arrive, the soil is returned at some part, leaving shallow holes where there should be bodies. There is nothing more, except for the occasional patches of blood on the snow, warm enough to have melted some holes.

Trevor hums, quirking up a confused eyebrow. Beside him, Adrian is crouched, studying wobbly footsteps and a discarded pitchfork. He doesn’t show much of his thoughts, but his nose wrinkles in disgust.

Trevor hums again. He did smell it. Along the metallic tang of blood in the air, the distinct stench of rot takes up his nose and the back of his throat, and Trevor wonders if it’s because of the shallow graves or something else. Adrian seems to believe the latter –his swords is just a little unsheathed, a few centimeters; enough to strike the second it’s needed.

“Undead,” Adrian says, hiding a grimace. “Not a ghoul, but not a...”

He narrows his eyes and frowns.

“A vampire, but... Different. They reek.”

“Because you don’t?” Trevor quips, snorting and instantly regretting it.

The acid of the rot hanging in the air is strong enough to coat the back of his nose, like a burn, and his cough almost drowns Adrian’s sigh.

“This is serious, Belmont,” he deadpans.

Trevor shrugs. He does know, of course, how it can be serious. Danger branded him in many ways; from his night terrors to his still throbbing scars. The one of his left eye is the most obvious one. Too big, too red, Trevor can’t even pretend it doesn’t exist every time he catches a glimpse of his face.

Trevor looks down at the small pool of blood at his feet. His sense of smell isn’t strong enough to tell what is it, really, so he gently nudges Adrian’s arm.

“Human?” he asks.

Adrian crosses his arms. His sword now floats eerily beside him, and Trevor has the terrible impression that it has a mind of its own.

“Yes,” the vampire says after a beat. “But this...”

He motions at the strange looking blood, too dark and too thick and too slimy, a few feet away. It hasn’t melted the snow, nor haven’t seeped into it. He wrinkles his nose again. “That’s not human or vampire. Undead for sure.”

Trevor scoffs. “Not ghoul either, I guess. Great. What do you think we should do?”

“Someone has to have seen something,” Adrian mutters, glancing at the buildings and small houses around. “There's human blood but no bodies.”

All the windows have their curtains hastily pulled, hiding their occupants from any scrutinizing glare. Adrian’s sword sings quietly when it clicks back into its sheath, finally plunging the graveyard into absolute silence. The cries have stopped, for now. Too injured, Trevor guesses. Or dead.

Adrian swiftly turns to face Trevor. His eyes are calculating and there’s a frustration on his face that quite doesn’t make sense, Trevor notices.

“You better talk to them,” Adrian finally says, gesturing at the silent neighborhood. “They don’t tend to...”

“Trust you?” Trevor snickers. “Jesus, I wonder why.”

Adrian rolls his eyes and points to the nearest building. It has a window facing the graveyard. Behind the thick red curtain, something moves –almost imperceptibly. Someone was eavesdropping not so discreetly  

“Better start there,” Adrian says. His voice is quiet enough to not let anyone but Trevor hear. “I’ll make sure no one uses the back door.”

Trevor groans but doesn't object, not trying to argue. He isn’t good with people unless he can pay or fuck them, but the building is Olga’s tavern, he notices. She isn’t hard to convince, she isn’t stupid, and she’s eager to help, Trevor lists, lips pursed. He hopes she’s alright.

He rounds the graveyard, looks up at the tavern sign as he knocks. "The Red Shovel”. Huh.

“Olga,” Trevor shouts when the door doesn't open. “Olga, open up”.

Someone tumbles down the stairs. The door creaks just a little, letting Trevor see the waitress’ terrified eyes. They are a little swollen, still moist.

“What happened?” Trevor asks.

Maybe his voice is too abrupt -he isn't used to be kind. Olga flinches but steps back to open the door a little more. Behind her, some patrons are cowering under tables; even the drunkest ones seemed to have sobered up.

On her blouse, there is some blood; the slimy, putrid, one; over the bright red, human, one. Trevor frowns.

“Are you hurt?”

Olga shakes her head. “No, it's not mine, but the girl, the girl, she…”

She draws a shaky breath and pulls Trevor in.

“Come over, she's upstairs,” she says, climbing up. Trevor nods noncommittally and follows close behind her, glancing over her shoulder.

The door is ajar, and Trevor can see an unkempt room through the crack of the door. The bed is messy, bloodied bandages laying on the wooden floor, and the end table is covered with cups of water and paper. The candle has just been put out, a small cloud of smoke still rising in the air. The red curtain Adrian spotted from the graveyard is thick, blocking the sunlight.

Squinting to see through the darkness, Trevor spots a lean silhouette over the bloodied sheets, a pale hand pressing on the mattress to find purchase.

“Olga?” the silhouette croaks.

Olga shushes the woman on the bed, rushes to her side. Trevor notices a flash of bright, red hair, and a burn on her side, an ugly pink creeping up around the bandages of her chest. The hunter frowns –it's a cauterized wound, clumsily and hastily so, and he wonders if Olga did it.

“Who is he?” the woman asks. It’s too dark to make out her features, but her eyes shine with the light filtering through the door. She’s frightened.

Olga’s attention turns back to Trevor.

“He’s Trevor,” she says, then hesitates. After a beat, she adds, “he’s a hunter, a Belmont.”

The wounded woman finds the strength to push herself up. She sits on the bed, and, with a flick of her wrist, the candle lights up. She smiles, and Trevor stares at her, then returns the gesture –sincerely.

She's wearing the familiar robe of a Speaker. A traveling historian, of, as Trevor likes to call them, storyteller.

Before his estate was burned down and his name cursed, Speakers were known to be one of the Belmont’s family closest allies. They are quite rare to meet, but Trevor is glad to see a face that is undoubtedly friendly. The usually move in groups, though.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Speakers,” Trevor muses, warmth in his voice. “What happened here? Where are the others?”

The woman shrugs. Her hand passes absentmindedly over her injured side. Olga, leaning against the frame of the door, seems a bit lost. Trevor can’t fault her –Speakers, hunters, Belmont, clergy; with many others, they were all part of an old, political structure that crumbled down decades ago. It's now forgotten, for the better.

“I came alone,” the injured woman mutters. She looks down, sadly. “I wanted to know why people kept dying. I knew Lucia… I got to meet her when she was moving from Sibiu.”

Trevor crosses his arms. He would want to know more about Lucia, but there’s something more interesting, more pressing, right now. He tilts his chin towards the Speaker’s burned side.   

“What happened?”

The woman looks at Olga, then at her hands. The smoke of the candle twirls around her like an inquisitive creature.

“I wanted to visit Lucia, but it was… Wrong. The smell was too strong, and I thought the grave was too shallow, maybe, but then she…”

She takes a deep breath, tears threatening to fall.

“She, that thing, Lucia –I really don’t know, I… It grabbed my ankle and I fell, and then it was out of the… of the tomb, and it came to me… There were two of them… With these fangs… And claws...”

She shakes uncontrollably in both fear and disgust, and Trevor reluctantly kneels beside her. He isn’t sure if it’s really proper for a stranger, hunter or not, to take such a delicate hand in their killing ones, but the Speaker seems to calm down. Her voice is steadier when she speaks again.

“They screamed, so loud, I thought I was going deaf. Then it crawled to me again. I panicked, and I didn’t know what to do. One got to me, slashed my side. Olga knew something was wrong, and she used the pitchfork to push one back…”

Trevor looks over his shoulder to see Olga shrug. “Got to do something,” she mutters, and the Speaker laughs tiredly, just a little before she continues.

“The wound was strange, and I knew something was wrong so I… I cauterized it with…” she moves a bit her hand. The fire of the candle is immediately put off. Trevor understands what she means and is torn between admiration and horror. Cauterizing an injury is already painful enough, but cauterizing one alone? He shudders.

“I was ready to fight,” the Speaker says resolutely. “But then they ran away.”

“Which way?” Trevor prods. The Speaker shakes her head.

“I don’t know. I felt nauseous and fell down. The next thing I knew, Olga was beside me, here, and you were making a racket outside with someone.”

Trevor snorts. “Sorry for that. Hunting weird things is kind of my job.”

The Speaker huffs in amusement. The skin of her side still seems tender and terribly painful, pulling when she breathes, but she shuffles around on the mattress and grasps Trevor’s hand with both of hers.

“I am Sypha Belnades. I am honored to meet you, Trevor Belmont.”

Trevor looks away, fighting the urge to laugh. There is nothing to be honored for, but it still warms his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/roboticake) and [Tumblr](https://roboticake.tumblr.com) if you wish to talk ! :)


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